Howl: a Teen Wolf fanfic
by Nicholas Scott
Summary: Stiles has always been on the outside looking in when it came to Scott and his 'little problem." The Robin to Scott's Batman. Now though, the packs are converging on Beacon Hills and for some reason, Stiles is their prey and he has a feeling, i's going to take more than Scott's pack to save his ass. What he didn't expect was Derek Hale coming to his rescue.
1. Prologue

Prologue

_Just a little intro...don't hold your breath waiting for an update any time soon...I just wanted this out here as a gentle reminder to myself that I want to write a fanfic for Teenwolf. You know, cuz I have all this free time. LOL_

Stiles tapped his pencil on the desktop. I wouldn't describe Stiles as rhythmic, I don't think anyone would describe him as rhythmic, no matter how much he loved listening to music; playing or singing it was a completely different matter.

"Mister..." The teacher, a new substitute; MS Bonaparte, looked at her seating chart, "Stilinski. If you don't mind."

Stiles looked up, oblivious. "What?"

"That tapping. It's quite distracting."

"Oh, yeah." He pointed to his head as if that were reason enough. "Sorry. You can't hear it?"

MS Bonaparte frowned at that. She was new and so didn't know Stiles as everyone else did. Coach Finstock would have shut him down immediately. "Excuse me?"

The quiet laughter from our fellow classmates was so familiar I barely noticed it. I'd known Stiles longer than anybody and he was always reliable for a few comic moments.. I'd grown accustomed to his idiosyncrasies. Of course, a few idiosyncrasies was nothing when compared to a bad case of lycanthropy.

He looked at me, that goofy grin on his face. "D'you hear it?"

I shook my head. "Nooooo." I was more than a little insistent, trying to divert whatever it was he was about to do.

"No? Anyone? Anyone hear it?" He looked to his left, hands held up in the air, beckoning to everyone. "Anyone?"

Not a good sign. I knew what was coming and I cringed. Hopefully, it wasn't ...  
"I came in like a wrecking balllllllllll." He screeched badly.

I hung my head. One of us should be ashamed.

"Mr. Stilinski. Mr. Stilinski!" MS Bonaparte clapped her hands to get Stiles' attention. "Mr. Stilinski! I do not appreciate the interruption."

"Sorry. Sorry. I never meant to start a war." He was straight-faced, his smile cherubic.

I choked on laughter.

"Mr. Stilinski. Your levity is not appreciated."

"My levity?" He stretched the word out as if he'd never heard it before.

"Your coach Finstock warned me about you. And your little cohorts too."

"My little cohorts?" Stiles looked at me. "Do I have cohorts?"

"Just go." She pointed to the door. "You too Mister..." She looked at the seating chart again. "McCall." She folded the seating chart and looked up. "Nip it in the bud, he said." She nodded. "So. Out, the both of you." She pointed to the door again. I grabbed my backpack. "Leave your homework on the desk"

"Ohhhhhhh." Stiles stopped in midstride his shoes squeaking on the linoleum and turned in a circle at the door. "About that. That's gonna be a problem. My ...dog ate my homework."

"Your dog?" MS Bonaparte appeared dubious.

That's what this was about. Stiles hadn't done his homework. "Yep. My dog." Stiles patted my shoulder rather forcefully.

"Yeah. Big dog." I looked at Stiles and added with a controlled growl. "Mean dog."

"Big dog!" He gestured wildly to the snickering of my fellow classmates, though some of them didn't really snicker out of any sense of humor. Too many things had happened in Beacon Hills. Too many whispered tales. "Before I knew it, he had it. My homework. It was some of my best work too. " He looked crestfallen. "We're talking college level stuff."

MS Bonaparte wasn't buying it. I gave Stiles a little shove towards the door.

"Your dog?" I whispered, my sibilant indignation carried down the empty corridor. I didn't know why the lighting in this place wasn't any better. The corridors were always so dark. You'd think there was a power shortage or something.

"What was I supposed to say? Sorry MS Bonaparte... my best friend's a werewolf and he accidentally ate my homework."  
"First off, I didn't accidentally eat your homework. It's on your desk at home with maybe 20 words written and that includes your name." He feigned outrage. "Second, Miley Cyrus? Really?"

Stiles stopped mid-stride and looked at me. "It's simple really. MS Bonaparte reminds me of Bob the Builder." I shook my head, clueless.

He continued, speaking as if I were a little slow. "Bob the Builder reminds me of construction. Construction ...wrecking ball." I guess my reaction was less than spectacular as his expression soured. "You really don't know me at all, do you?" Stiles pressed a hand to his chest with feigned heartache.

I could only shake my head.


	2. Chapter One

"Stiles?"

I looked up, coming out of a fog that seemed to push me deeper and deeper into an oblivion, which I've found myself lost in again and again.

"You okay?" Scott drew closer and inspected me, a hint of worry coloring his dark brown eyes. His nostrils flared as if he was trying to sniff out the problem. "You've been a little out of it."  
I nodded, running a hand through my hair. My scalp itched. I was certain there was an old saying about that, along the lines of, if your palm itches you're going to come into some money, if your nose itches...yada yada yada. "I've just been feeling a little weird."

"Weird, sick? Or weird like _supernatural _weird?"

I shrugged. "I'm starting to think everything is supernatural weird. This whole town is a magnet for weird. It's not called Beacon Hills for nothing: it draws every shady thing I can possibly imagine and a few I can't too. For once, just once, I wish it would draw something or someone that doesn't want to kill me."

"You and me both."

I looked up, reminiscing. "You remember the good ol' days when we'd bitch that nothing ever happened in this town. Before your little play date with Peter... Now it seems like every time I turn around, there's something new, something menacing, something about to eat us, drink us, or suck the very souls from out bodies. I mean, this would make for some great tv."

"Nobody'd watch."

"Nobody'd watch? Dude, are you crazy? Everybody'd watch. I mean, there's like a good five or six seasons of good material here. What you mean to say is _you _wouldn't watch. Me, I'd watch the hell out of it."

Scott rolled his eyes. "And you'd finally get the girl."

"Woah, woah, woah! Sarcasm is my thing."

I heard a sudden rumbling and looked at Scott. He didn't seem to notice or hear anything.

"D'you hear that?"

"Hear what?"  
The rumbling tapered off, like a far off thunder. I angled my head listening, then shook my head. I hadn't told Scott that since my little adventure with the _nogitsune_, things had been, as he put it, a little off. Sometimes I felt it; something, just beneath the surface. I'd hear things, feel things or sense things that no one else seemed to. I worried privately that maybe one day I'd wake up trapped inside myself as the fox took control again.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"If something's going on, something you need to tell me."

"Yeah, yeah. No worries. You'll be the first to know. Buuuuut, I've got to head out."

Scott's demeanor said he didn't believe me, but I wasn't about to go into it now. I clapped him on the shoulder. "Seriously, the first person to know." I grabbed my keys and phone. "I call you later."

My Jeep had seen better days. A little worse for wear, but it drove perfectly fine, despite everything that'd happened to it. Finding a hood to replace what Peter Hale had done to it, not to mention ripping the battery from its entrails, was but the latest of many calamities that it had befallen it. Last year, Parrish all but destroyed it. But I've resurrected it, once again and now, it's a veritable Frankenstein's monster on wheels, held together by sheer willpower and Duct Tape. But, I wouldn't want it any other way. Not to mention, I couldn't afford anything else.

"Where's Scott?"

"Holy shit! Don't you have better things to do than to linger in the back of my Jeep. You know where he lives. You can probably smell him for god's sake. Why do you always...

Derek Hale wasn't amused. Of course in all the time I've known him, I don't think he'd ever been amused.

"Where's Scott?"

I literally had to cover my mouth before I got into trouble. Believe it or not, I had that tendency. I spied Derek's scowl in the rearview mirror as he waited. My seat shifted as he pulled himself forward and leaned in close.

"Just tell me where he is and I can get out of..."

"You know, for once, I'd like..."

"Stiles! Would you just shut up? It's important." I watched him in the mirror. Normally there'd be more of a growl to his words like he was about to rip my throat out with his teeth. Instead, he looked away. "It's important. I need to talk to him."

"I don't know." I wasn't used to this. "He was in the library."

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" I could almost feel his lips against my neck, almost: he was that close.

"You know, if this was a tv show; this is what they would call sexual tension. The audience would so ship us; call us Sterek or something like that. You know the combination of my name and yours: Stiles and De..." I watched him in the rearview mirror, his gaze intense as he scowled at that. Seems no one appreciates my levity.

He looked like he was about to respond, his mouth working, eyes blinking then he shook his head and slipped silently out of the back seat.

I yelled out the window. "I wasn't saying you're attracted... That I'm attracted... I was just..." I looked at myself in the mirror, shaking my head.


End file.
